


sweet the sting

by UbiquitousMixie



Category: Chilling Adventures of Sabrina (TV 2018)
Genre: F/F, Incest, going to hell blah blah blah, sisters having consensual sexy times
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-25
Updated: 2018-12-25
Packaged: 2019-09-27 09:42:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,931
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17159687
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/UbiquitousMixie/pseuds/UbiquitousMixie
Summary: Zelda kills Hilda one final time.





	sweet the sting

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is a Christmas gift to my wife, who is also hopelessly addicted to this ship. This is about two consenting adults who happen to be related, so if you’re not down with this, you might want to bounce now — sexy times lie ahead. 
> 
> Comments are my life force, so please let me know what you think! (And talk to me about Hilda/Zelda, because I’m obsessed.)

After the unspeakable terror of Batibat’s nightmares, Zelda kills Hilda one final time. 

It had been completely unintentional, Zelda tells herself. She hadn’t meant for their fight to turn physical, but Hilda fought back. It had been wholly unfamiliar to Zelda: she had been unprepared for Hilda’s retaliation, for Hilda to stand up to her. She hadn’t expected Hilda to push her, and she had been just as surprised when she, in turn, pushed back so hard that Hilda fell into the corner of the mantle. 

Zelda feared, as she frantically dug into the Cain pit, that it truly _had_ been an accident, that it had happened as it was always destined to, and that the resurrective powers of the earth would be unable to bring her back. She had cried to push her sister’s body into the ground, had retched violently at the sound of Hilda hitting bottom. 

She would have no way of knowing if Hilda would return until it happened. 

She would come back, or she wouldn’t. 

It’s been nearly a day, and Hilda has yet to rise. Zelda sits on the stairs of the house, generous glass of whiskey in hand. The moon is nearly full tonight, and the illumination is enough to allow her to carefully watch the pit. When it happens, she will make herself witness it so that she will never forget the sight. 

“Auntie Zee, are you sure I shouldn’t stay? I’ve never seen you this freaked out.” 

Zelda lights another cigarette and takes a long drag, darting her eyes toward her silver-haired niece. “I do not ‘freak out’, Sabrina.” 

Sabrina rolls her eyes. “I’m worried about you.” She bites her lip, considering. “And I’m worried about Aunt Hilda.”

Zelda waves a dismissive hand, hoping that Sabrina can’t tell that it is shaking. “We’ll be fine. Please go back to the Academy. Hilda won’t want you to see her like this.”

Zelda praises the Dark Lord when Sabrina decides against sharing her opinion and simply kisses her cheek. “I’ll be back after morning classes. I’d better see _both of you_ at lunch.” 

Zelda gives a tight smile. “You will.” 

The eldest Spellman sister does not watch her niece walk down the drive. She watches the pit. 

Hilda will come back, she decides. She can see more clearly now, can recall the desperate rage behind her words, can remember just how hard she pushed to provoke Hilda enough to retaliate. Her vicious words ring in her ears; she had held nothing back, had picked at every devastating insecurity to push Hilda past the breaking point. She had looked for a reason to justify killing her again, just to prevent her from leaving for a little while longer. 

Zelda is certain that Hilda will leave her now -- a nightmare of her own creation. 

A tear escapes quite against her will, and Zelda swallows another biting mouthful of whiskey. As she stubs out her cigarette and contemplates lighting another, Zelda notices movement in the cemetery. The earth shifts and then, finally, a hand presses through the dirt. Zelda’s heart races and she resists the urge to jump to her feet. 

Zelda finishes her whiskey as she watches Hilda drag herself from the ground, pulling herself up to her feet. She removes her sweater, ruined now, and drops it in the cemetery. She turns around.

Zelda stands then, smoothing down the wrinkles in her robe. Hilda never meets her eyes as she approaches; she stares straight ahead to the front door, to the bath awaiting her. “I never intended for this to happen,” she begins once Hilda is close enough. “I -- I stayed to make sure you were all right.” 

“After you killed me. That’s rich, Zelds.” 

Zelda steps in front of her sister, blocking her progress up the stairs. “Hilda, I’m sorry.” 

The blonde sighs heavily, her disappointed, heavy shoulders slumped forward. “Just...forget it happened. Please let me by.” 

“Let me make this up to you. Let me draw you a bath. Please, Hilda.” Zelda steps down, taking Hilda’s dirt-covered hand in her own. She has never once made this gesture, not in over two hundred years. “Please let me.” 

Hilda looks at her then, her eyes wary, but she nods. 

Zelda’s heart swells. “Come, sister. Let’s get you inside.” 

They walk in time to the front door, into the foyer. Ambrose emerges from the basement, pajama shirt opened to reveal a bare chest, whistling an upbeat tune. As he catches Zelda’s warning eye, he promptly spins on the ball of his foot and disappears back downstairs.

“You didn’t have to scare the poor lad,” Hilda admonishes as they ascend the staircase, though her tone is light. 

Zelda smiles. “Of course I did. A healthy measure of fear is entirely necessary when dealing with the opposite sex -- even when they are related to you.” She looks at Hilda in time to see the younger witch roll her eyes. 

Zelda opens the door to their bedroom -- no, it’s Zelda’s now -- and squeezes her sister’s hand. “The bathtub in here is larger. I thought…” 

“It’s fine, Zelds.” 

Zelda hesitates for only a moment before leaving Hilda to attend to the bath. She sets the temperature just as Hilda likes it -- not scalding, as Zelda prefers -- and adds a combination of oils to the water that she knows Hilda likes. The mixture of jasmine and honeysuckle makes Zelda weak in the knees, but she ignores this sensation; this is about Hilda. 

Once the bath has filled, Zelda calls for her younger sister. The witch appears in the doorway, and Zelda now notices her red-rimmed eyes caked in dirt. Her heart lurches. She is responsible for this, for her younger sister’s pain and fear and devastation. She brought this upon Hilda over and over and over, and she never once bothered to consider how it made her feel. 

She’s considering it now, and she hates it. She hates herself for what she’s done to her beloved sister. She peels away Hilda’s ruined dress, unzipping the cotton fabric to reveal the sunkissed flesh of her sister’s back. She pushes the dress to the ground, encouraging Hilda to step out of it and then cast it aside, before she makes quick work of ridding Hilda of her remaining undergarments. Her socks, panties, and bra are all set aside, likely to be burned once Zelda has time to deal with them. 

She guides Hilda into the bath, clutching the younger witch’s hand as she watches her sink into the milky bathwater. Hilda hisses as she sits, her body engulfed in the warm water, and Zelda has to look away. 

The older witch takes great care to rinse the dirt and mud from Hilda’s hair and body, rinsing and refilling the bath several times until the rinsing yields only clear, soapy water. She can now make out the rosy hue of her sister’s cheeks. “I’m sorry,” Zelda whispers, massaging homemade lemongrass conditioner into Hilda’s hair. 

Hilda does not respond. She tilts her head back as Zelda rinses away the conditioner and bites her lip as Zelda begins to soap a washcloth. She starts with HIlda’s back, rubbing away any remnants of dirt, cataloguing all of her younger sister’s freckles. As a child, she had memorized the constellation of Hilda’s freckles, tracing them until Hilda had shivered so violently and shrieked that she was ticklish. Here they are, steady and constant as the night sky, and Zelda represses the urge to kiss them all and trace their shapes with her tongue. 

_Later_ , she thinks. 

Once Zelda has tended to Hilda’s back, she takes her time with the blonde’s arms. She washes beneath and along their length, between each finger and around each wrist. Hilda’s wrists are sensitive, and the younger witch shudders as Zelda runs the cloth against the delicate flesh. When Zelda reaches Hilda’s breasts, she does not hesitate. She soaps each perfect mound with the cloth, taking great care to caress both nipples. She delights in the way the rosy pink peaks respond to her touch.

Zelda is very aware that Hilda has closed her eyes and held her breath. 

The older witch soaps her cloth again and tends to the parts of her sister that are hidden beneath the surface of the bathwater, and she caresses her hand down the soft curves of Hilda’s stomach, sighing as she slopes over the mound of her pubis. Oh, and her hand fits so perfectly here in this warm, secret place, this place that Zelda has coveted for centuries, and she gasps into Hilda’s ear as she begins to rub the soap between every fold. 

Hilda sighs and tilts her head back, resting for a moment against Zelda’s shoulder. The effect she is having on Hilda is making her feel weak and heady and desperate, but she is determined to cast aside her own desires in favor of her sister’s. She makes careful work of cleaning Hilda’s legs and feet, making sure that all evidence of the Cain pit is wiped clean from her sister’s flesh. 

As Zelda reaches into the water for the stopper, her eyes meet Hilda’s. She cannot fully recognize the look on Hilda’s face -- it is one she has never seen before, not in the multiple centuries that she’s been alive. This is a Hilda wholly unknown to her, and it makes her shiver in fear and anticipation. 

She pulls on the stopper, and the water begins to drain. Zelda cannot stop herself from catching the way the water level dips below her sister’s breasts. 

Zelda reaches for the towel, helping Hilda out of the tub and rubbing the cloth against her damp body. She looks away as she nears Hilda’s most intimate places. 

“Lemongrass, or lavendar?” Zelda asks, casting her eyes to meet Hilda’s. 

“Lavender.” 

Zelda nods and reaches for the bottle of Hilda’s homemade lotion, having anticipated that her sister would choose the more soothing of scents. She squirts a dab into her palm and rubs her hands together, warming the lotion. 

She starts with Hilda’s legs, smiling to herself at the re-discovery that Hilda’s feet are ticklish. She works the lotion between each toe, making a note to re-paint her sister’s toenails tomorrow, suppressing a laugh whenever Hilda giggles at the sensation. She spends longer on Hilda’s calves and and thighs, working the lotion into her skin and pausing periodically to kiss the lingering bruises of resurrection. Hilda shivers when Zelda moves to her backside, kneading the globes of her ass with the lavender lotion. Hilda grips the nearby stool as Zelda’s thumbs press close to her sex, her breath thready. Zelda pretends not to notice. 

She works her way up Hilda’s back, rubbing lotion into her tight muscles. She presses her thumbs into the blonde witch’s shoulder blades, making the younger woman hiss her approval. Zelda closes her eyes, nuzzling her nose into Hilda’s hair as she rubs her fingers against the younger witch’s shoulders. 

Hilda leans back into her, tilting her head against Zelda’s shoulder and pressing her warm, soft body against Zelda’s blue silk nightgown. She wants so desperately to know what Hilda is thinking -- she needs to know if she is alone in this. She aches for her, has for centuries, and though they’ve slept together several times throughout their lifetime, it has only ever happened impulsively. There has never been a seduction. 

Zelda slides her hands down over the front of Hilda’s body. The younger witch hitches her breath as Zelda’s hands encircle her breasts, her thumbs caressing Hilda’s nipples. The younger woman whimpers, and her hand reaches back to clutch at her sister’s hip.

“Zelds,” Hilda says breathlessly, arching her breasts into Zelda’s touch. “Are...are we doing this?”

Zelda turns Hilda’s body, curling her arms around her waist. No one knows Hilda better than Zelda does, and it’s there, written all over her face. She wants this just as much as Zelda. Perhaps even more. “Yes,” Zelda whispers, slanting her mouth over Hilda’s. 

There is no hesitation for either sister; lips part and tongues meet, and Zelda cups Hilda’s face within her hands and kisses her with reverence and love and desire. Her head spins as pleasure courses through her like an electrical current, and it occurs to her then that they should have been fucking -- not murdering -- all along. 

It’s Hilda now who is guiding Zelda toward her bed, whose fingers are gripping at Zelda’s waist. Their tongues slide and explore and it’s just as Zelda remembered from the few times they’ve kissed over the decades: Hilda has a raw talent for kissing in spite of her inexperience, and she more than makes up for any shortcomings with enthusiasm. Zelda’s head spins and she gasps when the back of her thighs bump into her mattress. 

Hilda encourages Zelda to sit and spread her legs before stepping between them. Zelda swallows, her throat suddenly dry as she considers how easily Hilda has taken control. It sets her aflame. 

Hilda passes her thumb over Zelda’s kiss-bruised lower lip, still glistening with Hilda’s saliva. “Never again, Zelda. Promise me.” 

Zelda feels the cloying press of emotion at her throat, and she nods. “I promise, Hilda. I will never hurt you again.” 

The younger witch rolls her eyes as she tucks her sister’s hair behind her ear. “Yes, you will. You can’t help it. But you _can_ tell me that you’ll never kill me again. You can say it and mean it, for once.” 

What must it have been like for Hilda all those years, decades, centuries, always wondering when she would meet a gruesome, painful death? How could Hilda still love her, still want her, after everything Zelda has done? “I will never kill you again. I swear on my own life, Hilda.” She gathers Hilda’s hands in her own and brings them to her mouth, kissing her sister’s knuckles. “Can you ever forgive me?” 

“I forgive you every time, sister.” 

Zelda does not deserve this tenderness, this absolution, but she will not take the gift for granted. She kisses Hilda’s palm and then wraps her lips around Hilda’s index finger, swirling her tongue around the length of it. Hilda hisses, _”Oh, Satan.”_

The older witch slowly releases Hilda’s finger and then brings her wrist to her mouth, nipping her teeth at the tender flesh. Hilda shivers, and Zelda is delighted to see Hilda’s soft flesh erupting with goosebumps. 

Zelda progresses along the length of Hilda’s arm, kissing and sucking and biting as she goes. When she reaches Hilda’s shoulder, she noses aside her damp hair so that she is able to suck at the curve of her sister’s throat. Her knees tighten against Hilda’s hips and the blonde woman moans. 

Quickly, before she is too far gone, Zelda whispers a privacy spell and a soundproofing incantation, and then she is kissing her way along the column of Hilda’s throat. She bestows extra attention on a spot that she once stabbed with scissors; though the witch’s skin no longer bears the mark, Zelda could never forget the sight of Hilda’s shocked expression as Zelda killed her with her own fabric shears. She sucks gently on this spot, worrying it with her tongue, leaving behind a love mark to rival old scars. With each kiss, Zelda vows never to physically hurt her -- or worse -- ever again. 

Hilda sighs, gripping Zelda’s shoulders to steady herself as she sways into her older sister. “Please, Zelda.” The desperation creeping at the edges of her voice sets Zelda on fire.

The older witch scoots back and tugs on Hilda’s arms, repositioning their bodies until Zelda is resting back against her pillows and Hilda is straddling her hips. Zelda can’t help but stare; Hilda looks delicious like this, naked and soft and flushed pink with arousal. Zelda has seen Hilda naked countless times over their lifetime, has even fucked her, but she’s never had Hilda like this, like she has been served on a silver platter. 

“Exquisite,” Zelda says softly, sliding her hands up Hilda’s thighs, over her hips and waist. “I don’t tell you enough how beautiful you are, Hilda.” Hilda gives a rare but lovely smile -- the one she reserves for when she’s been rendered breathless. Zelda’s heart clenches and she palms the weight of Hilda’s breasts in her hands. When Zelda’s thumbs brush against the hardened peaks of her nipples once more, Hilda gasps and jerks her hips, driving them hard against Zelda’s. 

It is the older witch’s turn to gasp. She is overwhelmed by choice: she wants to touch and taste her everywhere. She is spoiled. It’s been a long time since she has had Hilda, and even those few times have never been like this, slow and deliberate and unbearably sexy. 

Hilda leans forward and slants her mouth over Zelda’s. At the press of Hilda’s tongue against her lips, Zelda lets her in and pinches the younger witch’s nipples. Hilda moans. 

This is better than anything Zelda has felt in a very long time, and she can’t get enough. She caresses her hands over Hilda’s back and then down to grasp her ass. She digs her nails in and uses her hands to guide Hilda into a hard, rocking rhythm with her hips, and Zelda arches up to meet her. Hilda gasps and groans, and the sound is so erotic that Zelda momentarily loses her breath. And then, _oh Satan_ , she can feel how wet her sister is through the silk of her nightgown. “Hilda,” she groans. 

She can’t handle it. With steady hands at her hips, Zelda flips them over, pressing Hilda against the mattress. Hilda gasps as Zelda settles between her legs and the older witch smirks. 

“I -- I want to see you.” 

At this point, Zelda will give Hilda anything -- _anything_ \-- that she wants. She nods, and two pairs of hands gather the silk gown and pull it over her head. 

Hilda’s eyes are greedy as they drink in the sight of her. “Oh, Zelda.” The younger witch is all hands now, touching as much of Zelda’s pale, smooth skin as she can. She’s frantic, and Zelda stills her wandering hands by tickling her sides. 

Hilda laughs breathlessly and squirms, attempting to wriggle her body away from Zelda’s teasing fingers. The mirthful melody of Hilda’s laughter makes her heart clench; how close she came this day to never hearing that sound again. Panic swells inside of her at the reminder that she very nearly snuffed her light from the world. 

Laughter fades as Hilda recognizes the anguish on Zelda’s face, and her mouth is open and pliant when Zelda leans forward and claims her sister’s in a bruising, fevered kiss. Between kisses, Zelda whispers her apology like a benediction. 

It’s her desperation that drives Zelda’s mouth along the curve of Hilda’s jaw and the smooth expanse of her throat. She licks at a birthmark and catalogues every whimper and sigh that she hears. She nips her teeth at Hilda’s clavicle before making her way to her breasts. She has not devoted nearly enough time here and she sets to correct this now. She can feel the pounding of Hilda’s heart, the steady tattoo matching her own, and as her cheek brushes against the unspeakable softness of her sister’s breast, she lets out a low moan. She’s moaning still when she wraps her lips around one perfectly puckered pink nipple. 

Hilda cries out, and Zelda is drunk on the feeling of the younger witch’s hips rising up to meet her own. She switches to the neglected breast, sucking hard at the swell of creamy flesh. Hilda’s fingers thread through her hair, tugging sharply as Zelda works her lips and teeth and tongue at her nipple. Zelda cannot understand why, in the handful of times that she and Hilda have fucked each other, she has never taken the time to savor the delicious curves of the blonde witch’s body. She intends to make up for it now, worshiping the body of the woman she’s broken time and time again. 

Hilda rocks against her, rolling her hips in a desperate rhythm Zelda knows all too well. The noises coming out of her mouth make Zelda feel lightheaded; she has always loved a vocal lover, and the knowledge that this is her sister makes her dizzy with need. “Satan, _please_ Zelda...have mercy.” 

Zelda has always been withholding when it comes to Hilda, but she is willing to make an exception -- she did kill her, after all. With a smoldering look that makes Hilda shiver, Zelda releases her nipple with a pop and settles her body between Hilda’s spread legs. She delights in the way Hilda parts her thighs to her, in the way she gasps to feel Zelda’s fingers slip between wet, swollen folds, in the way Hilda cries out when a finger slides inside. 

The older witch nips her teeth along the soft flesh of Hilda’s inner thighs before she swipes her tongue against Hilda’s clit. She has never felt more powerful than she does now, driving Hilda toward a shattering orgasm. The way Hilda tosses her head against Zelda’s pillow and the way she tightens her grip in Zelda’s hair and the way she rolls her hips to meet the thrusting of her finger makes Zelda swoon. It’s enough to make her lose focus for a second, lost in her own pleasure, but Hilda’s answering whimper inspires her to thrust a little harder. 

Zelda can’t get enough. They’ve never done this particular act before, and Zelda can’t figure out why; Hilda tastes like musky ambrosia, and she feels that she could easily become addicted. She curls her free arm around Hilda’s thigh, pinning her to the bed. Zelda hums her appreciation against Hilda’s sex; she has always preferred going down on women. She prefers the softness, the taste, the sound of a woman’s voice as she cries out in pleasure. That it is Hilda only heightens her enjoyment, and she revels in the way that Hilda’s thighs are beginning to tremble. 

Hilda is close, and Zelda can’t wait to make her come. She twists and curls her fingers, and Hilda’s answering shriek makes Zelda smirk against her cunt. She sucks her clit between her lips before lapping the flat of her tongue over the swollen nub, and Hilda covers her eyes and shouts, _”Oh, for Satan’s sake, Zelda…”_

When her orgasm hits, Hilda cries out, and Zelda can’t help but moan in tandem with her sister. She watches Hilda as she comes, memorizing the shape of her mouth, the flush of her cheeks, the shuddering of her body as pleasure courses through her. She wants more, wants to do this forever, wants to give Hilda so much pleasure that memories of dying are forgotten. 

As Hilda collapses against the mattress, spent and drawing in ragged breaths, Zelda places a final kiss against her sex before slowing pulling back her fingers. Once she has settled beside her sister, Zelda teases wet fingers in dizzying patterns against Hilda’s breast. She watches the younger witch come back to herself and marvels at the bliss awash on her features; this is how Hilda should always be: sated and happy. 

A surge of affection grips her then, a pang of such love and longing that Zelda momentarily loses her breath. She leans in, nuzzling her nose against her sister’s temple. 

“I feel positively reborn,” Hilda says, a twinkle in her eyes. She pushes at Zelda’s shoulder, guiding her back against the mattress. Hilda rolls onto her side, draping one of her legs over Zelda’s thighs. “In more ways than one.” 

Zelda rolls her eyes, though a stab of guilt twists inside of her. Before she can apologize again, Hilda’s fingers are teasing against her stomach, swirling around her navel before moving upward. Zelda sucks in a breath as those fingers draw her nipples into taut peaks, though her touch remains light and gentle. Softness is not something Zelda particularly cares for in her lovemaking, though she is willing to overlook Hilda’s tender, teasing caresses. 

It doesn’t matter as long as Hilda keeps touching her. 

Hilda looks at her with such reverence, such love, that Zelda momentarily forgets the urgency of her arousal; no one has ever looked at her like this, and she has never felt so wanted or so beautiful. She knows in this moment that she will never -- could never -- kill Hilda again. 

When Hilda’s short fingernails scratch against the soft copper curls between her legs, Zelda groans, and Hilda giggles. Her delight is infectious; Zelda only wants to see her like this, mirthful and at peace. 

But her mirth begins to evolve into something else, something darker, something more predatory. Hilda’s sexual confidence is not something altogether familiar to Zelda; previous dalliances together were fueled by desperation and urgency, leaving little time for Hilda to contemplate self-consciousness. Now, though, Hilda slides her hands over Zelda’s sex and holds it there like it belongs to her, her eyes alight with wicked intentions. It makes Zelda shudder in anticipation. She squirms, hoping to inspire Hilda to move those skilled and capable fingers, but Hilda only smiles serenely at her. 

“I should torture you, you know,” Hilda says, pressing down gently against Zelda’s clit. “I should go back to my room and leave you here all alone.” She sighs, teasing her middle finger between wet folds, stroking ever-so-lightly. “I should, but I don’t want to.” She teases around Zelda’s clitoris, touching her everywhere but where Zelda needs her most. “I want you to need me.” 

Zelda has never needed anyone but Hilda. “I do need you, sister.” She bites her lip. “I need you very, very much.” 

“You’d better,” Hilda replies, her finger barely moving. 

“How did you become so devious?” 

Hilda smirks. “I had a very good teacher.” 

The older witch is rewarded then with two fingers gliding against her clit. Hilda’s eyes marvel in wonder at the discovery of just how slick Zelda is. “Oh, Zelds…” 

Zelda is rather pleased with Hilda’s delight, and she rocks her hips against Hilda’s exploring fingers. “Do you feel what you do to me?” 

The blonde gulps and then nods emphatically, and Zelda chuckles. “Come here,” she says, pulling Hilda’s face in for a kiss. Zelda can taste Hilda’s smile against her lips. 

They lose themselves in the kiss for only a moment, and then Hilda’s fingers continue to explore, sliding effortlessly inside. She pulls back completely before using her leg to drive her fingers in even harder, and Zelda moans into her mouth. 

Zelda feels dizzy with pleasure, and her nails dig into Hilda’s shoulders to feel the press of a third finger -- and the silky, wet glide of Hilda’s cunt against her thigh. She scratches her nails along the length of her sister’s back before she reaches her ass, and she guides Hilda’s hips into a steady rhythm against her leg. 

The older sister is ashamed to admit to herself that she is impressed by Hilda’s skill, and little lights go off behind her eyelids as Hilda fucks her and grinds against her. She pulls away with a gasp as the heel of Hilda’s palm brushes against her clit. She can’t last like this, not when Hilda begins to bite at her throat and twist her fingers and chase her own pleasure against her leg. 

“Hilda,” she whimpers, and then she comes, and she’s shattering apart as pleasure electrifies her entire body, and then Hilda is coming too and she moans in Zelda’s ear and nothing will ever, ever compare to this moment. 

Zelda is not sure how long the afterglow lasts, but when she opens her eyes, she is curled around Hilda’s body and Hilda is stroking her hair. Zelda is not a cuddler, but she clings to Hilda as if afraid she will disappear. She remembers Batibat’s nightmare, of the fake Dark Lord’s warning that Hilda would never return, and Zelda will never allow that to happen. 

She chokes back a lump of emotion, but the tears come anyway, falling hot and heavy against Hilda’s throat. 

“Hey now, none of that, all right?” She presses soft kisses against Zelda’s head and temple and then the tip of her nose. “It’s over now.” 

“You won’t leave me, will you?” 

The blonde woman considers for a moment before saying carefully, “I don’t want to leave you, Zelds, but I will if you kill me again. I just...I can’t take it anymore.” 

Zelda nods and pulls back, beginning to compose herself. “Nor should you.” She swipes her fingers, which still smell of Hilda’s sex, beneath her eyes, wiping away her tears. “I can’t promise that I’ll be any easier to live with, but I can promise you that I will never kill you again.” 

The blonde smiles. “Oh, I don’t know, Zelds...I have it on good authority that you are actually quite easy.” 

Zelda laughs and raises an eyebrow. She swings her thigh over Hilda’s hips, straddling her once more. She pins Hilda’s wrists against the mattress. “Says the witch who got herself off against my leg.” 

Hilda gives a sheepish grin. “Sorry, love. Couldn’t help myself.” 

Zelda’s heart clenches as she looks down at her sister, giddy and happy and glowing beneath her. She looks nothing like the Hilda of several hours ago, resurrected and dirty and devastated, and the older witch banishes such thoughts. 

It won’t do to dwell in nightmares, and so Zelda focuses on the soft, beautiful reality between her thighs. 

\---


End file.
